


A Shame Without a Sin

by sleepypercy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Implied Incest, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, pillow humping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 11:18:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4261362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepypercy/pseuds/sleepypercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just some angsty, angry teenage Sam, humping his brother's pillow and wishing it were Dean.</p><p>For reference, Sam is 15 here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Shame Without a Sin

  
Sam slams the door to the motel room shut, not caring at all how much his dad or brother would bitch at him if they were around. He’s pissed. He deserves to be able to vent his frustrations out on inanimate doorways. In fact, he _hopes_ the manager comes to yell at him. Part of him wants to see how the man would react if Sam opened the door wide enough to reveal the artillery laid out on the kitchen table.

He’d probably call the police. Which means Dean would have to run back to pick up Sam before things got too hot, probably drive all night to Detroit where their father is presently holed up, working on a poltergeist case.

The scenario would bring his brother back, which is what Sam really wants. But it would also mean that he’d have to face his father, take whatever punishment John thinks Sam would deserve. Probably some combination of training drills and extra research duty with the added bonus of having to endure at least two or three sessions of lectures about Sam’s Responsibilities To This Family.

He’s just about had it lately, has hashed it out more than once with his dad, trying to get the man to understand that Sam doesn’t want to follow in his footsteps. That’s Dean’s deal, despite Sam trying to get his brother to see that it doesn’t have to be his life, either. They could both leave. Have a normal, safe life.

Sam knows he's right. He knows his father owes them more than this revenge-filled life. But he can also admit that some of that hot-tempered moodiness can be blamed on teenage hormones, hot and disorienting and driving him mad. Burning like jet fuel in his veins and making him want to do the opposite of everything John says just to feel that surge of triumphant vindictiveness. They’re also the reason he can’t be in the same room as Dean without going crazy. His brother’s the male equivalent of a pin-up girl, all sex curves and smoky eyes, every breath pushed out from those opium lips filling Sam’s head with primal urges.

Oftentimes, Sam’s not sure if he wants to punch Dean or slam him up against a wall and just rut into that soft, familiar skin. Most of the time, he can ignore it, refocus his brain and call up the rational, reasonable part of his mind. But some moments are harder to fight against than others. Like in the morning, when Dean’s all mussed with bedhead and pillow creases, skin flushed and pink. Close-quarter living and blood-relation privilege have stripped them of most privacy needs, and Dean has no qualms about changing out in the open, giving Sam flashes of even paler skin that he usually hides beneath two or three layers.

With his dad currently two states away and his brother out, having told Sam not to wait up, Sam’s all but guaranteed a few hours to himself. It’s warm enough in the room to comfortably undress, and he slips out of everything except his boxers, heaving himself onto his bed, legs kicked open.

At the moment, Dean’s probably halfway to some girl’s place, having lied himself into another bar just to pick up someone loose and easy and willing. Not knowing that he’s already got that back at the motel.

Although Sam expects it would go a little differently than his brother would imagine, even if Dean were up for it. Because all his thoughts and plans have never centered around spreading his legs, giving it up for big brother. What he wants is to bend Dean over — the couch or the table or even the bed, it doesn’t really matter as long as he’s ass-up — one hand on his neck and the other on that dip in Dean’s back. Right where his freckles collect like raindrops.

Sam’s already half-hard just thinking about this, breath coming out hotter and heavier. He pushes himself off his bed and walks over to Dean’s, shedding his boxers along the way. Grabbing the pillows from the top, he situates them underneath him as he slides over the soft covers. He pulls one under his face, breathing in salt and gun oil and Dean’s favorite body wash. The other is pushed between his legs, tucked tight as he starts rocking into it.

The cotton pillowcase feels good against his bare cock. It only takes a few seconds to coax it into a full-mast erection, tip blurting out precome that helps the slide go a little easier. There’s some cheap motel lotion in the nightstand, but Sam doesn’t want to get up so he spits into his hand and uses it to slick his cock up some more. He’d rather not risk chafing his dick, not while he’s still gotta live and sleep and breathe around Dean.

A particularly hard thrust has him crying out, a half-choked shout as he imagines shoving inside his brother, Dean already prepped and slick, ass canted up and waiting for Sam. He’s never been inside anything other than his own hand, but he imagines how tight and hot Dean would be. Sucking him right in until he was balls deep.

His thighs clench the pillow tighter, compressing the stuffing so he can hump harder.

He thinks about the way Dean looks coming out the shower, water dripping down like sweat, and he grunts again, circling his hips, dick searching out the best angle to fuck in.

 _You like that?_ he thinks inside his head to fantasy-Dean, who’s too full of cock to answer, can only whine and scratch at the bedcovers, gasping for more.

Sam’s seconds away from coming when he bites into the pillow, sounds muffled as he rocks harder, imagines what it would be like to have Dean under him, willing and just as slutty for this as Sam.

He’s still right on the edge when he hears something, looks up to see Dean standing in the doorway, eyes wide and mouth gaping open in surprise. Unable to stop, Sam snaps his hips once — twice — three times, and comes, hot and wet all across Dean’s pillow.

His brother’s finally moving, glancing towards the door like he’s thinking about giving Sam time enough to clean up so they pretend this never happened. But Sam can feel that inexplicable anger filling him up again, mixing with post-orgasm dopamine and adrenaline, making him bold and careless of consequences.

Before his brother can leave, Sam clears his throat, waits until Dean tentatively darts his eyes back towards him, then smirks and promises: “One day. I will fuck you, Dean.”


End file.
